


Show Me Your Teeth

by voodoochild



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M, Plot What Plot, Rough Sex, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the effectively immortal can run out of time. Spoilers for the series finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Your Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **thatyourefuse** , for the prompt: "Ashes to Ashes, Alex/Keats, time waits for no one/so do you want to waste some time tonight?"

This place is eternal and so is he; the notion of "running out of time" is laughable.

But he is.

He can feel it, slowly and surely, ticking down to the inevitable. Every day Alex grows closer to blowing the lid off Hunt's purgatory. Every day, she seems more determined to have the truth. Every day, Hunt gains another soul for his side - Shaz, Ray, and now, finally, Chris. Too much longer, and Alex will swing back to him. He'll win, go on fracturing the world he's built without realizing it and ruling over his little domain like he's lord and master of it.

As if it wouldn't have wrapped itself around another, equally strong soul that refused to die. Hunt isn't special; there are hundreds upon hundreds of corners of Purgatory, and each one hosts souls with potential to go either way. Each one a blank slate, waiting for a soul to claim it.

This place could have been Tyler's, once. Could be Alex's still. He will not let Hunt have her, not when she has so much potential to be realizing. She's atrophying here, gone from making connections and fighting tooth and nail through her problems to Hunt's kneejerk apologist.

 _"It's just Gene being Gene. He gets results."_

But does she question those results any longer? Does she bother to notice that Hunt's usually got the wrong man?

 _"No, he can't have murdered Sam Tyler."_

As if she hasn't seen him hold a gun to a man's head and pull the trigger. As if anything about Tyler's life adds up.

 _"He would never have hurt me on purpose."_

Alex is a bright light in this darkness - how could you shut her under a basket? How could you lie to her and belittle her and hurt her even unknowingly? It's clumsy, and worse, it's insulting to everything being a copper stands for. If you don't reason, if you don't have rules, how are you any better than the criminals you catch?

Jim is better. _Alex_ is better.

She proves it, every single time she comes to him with another question, another clue. She's proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt tonight, when she answers her door during her expected tryst with Hunt, and agrees to meet him back at the office. She thinks they've found their holy grail, Tyler's body in a grave up in Lancashire, and that he has more to show her. He does, but it's not in regards to Hunt or Tyler.

Knowing that she's left Hunt in her flat and come to him? It's intoxicating. It's confirmation - she's chosen him again. First, when she walked away from Hunt and CID professionally, and now, when she's walked away from Hunt personally. Two choices, and there's only going to be one more.

He gives her the illusion of work, when she arrives. Ignores the way she smells of a complicated perfume and good red wine, and sits her at his desk as they go through old evidence reports. He watches from over his glasses as she doesn't find anything substantial - because there is nothing to find - and finally slumps over, head in her hands.

"Why are we sitting here?" she says plaintively. "We know the proof is there, all we need is a map to Farringfield. One of us can sleep while the other drives. Why do we need the falsified autopsy report when there was no body?"

She's shaking-tense, and jumps when he settles his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs dig into the knots at the base of her neck, and she gives a low, shocked gasp.

"It's past two, Alex. Neither of us should be driving at this hour. And we need the evidence because I want my report to be airtight. No half-truths or unsubstantiated guesses. Isn't that the right way to do things?"

Eventually, she nods, though she's paying more attention to his hands against her. She moans beautifully every time he hits a certain spot below her shoulderblade, and he can hear the scuff of her shoe against the floor as she moves her legs together. He bends down, inhales the scent of her hair and perfume, and she turns in the chair. Her pupils are blown wide; she's been aroused a long time. Hours, if he considers her dinner and then reprise with Hunt.

"Yes, god yes," she whispers, broken and sweet and so desperate, he can't even think of denying her.

He considers a moment, then pulls her to her feet and seats himself in the desk chair. She's trapped between him and the desk, and she crawls into his lap, knees to either side of his hips. She burns hotter than anything he's touched in a long time, and moves slick and liquid against him. Pulling her shirts off, he lets her deal with her tights, flicking the clasp of her bra and licking a wet stripe up her collarbone.

She lifts up to get her tights off, one hand possessively gripping his hair, and pleads again. "Jim, I need- "

He kisses away the lines where her bra dug into the tops of her breasts, and smiles against her skin. "Tell me what you need, Alex."

"You know damn well what-" she starts, but he bites down against the side of her breast, and she wails. "Harder."

He obliges, because he does know what she wants - completion. Satisfaction. Someone who will fuck her until it hurts and not apologize for it. It's what she usually wants from him, except more, because she spent most of today soaking through her knickers at the prospect of finally bedding Gene Hunt and she didn't get it.

Working a hand between them, he unfastens his trousers (she's been hell on his wardrobe) and pushes them low enough to tease his cock against her cunt. "Say please like a good girl, Alex, and I'll give you what you want."

She doesn't disappoint.

"Please, Jim, please, fuck me."

He never turns down a woman who knows how to beg nicely, and she sinks down around him eye-crossingly tight and wet. Not giving her even a moment to breathe - because she wouldn't want it anyway - he has her gasping and crying out and adding more scratch marks to the ones she's already put through his shirt. His tie is still perfectly knotted, and she pulls tight on it, licks her way into his mouth and kisses him hard and wanting.

The knowledge that Hunt has never, ever had this (and never will) makes him less than careful. Always before, he'd kept most of his control even while fucking her; kept the marks and the bleeding and the bruising to a minimum. But her desperation undoes him, and her skin blooms red under him. She begs for it, begs for everything he gives her, and comes shaking and crying around him as he sinks his teeth into her shoulder.

And still she hasn't had enough. Alex has never had any brakes, and he loves it even more tonight. She moves exhaustedly against him, hours after they started, then stopped, then started again. His tongue laps at a spill of blood down her left breast, and she comes again, watching him swallow and then kiss her with red-stained lips. He finally loses himself a few moments later, spilling hot and sudden with a surprised cry.

Two choices, and now she's made her third. She's his, now, no matter what Hunt may try tomorrow.

Because time has run out.


End file.
